Roughly 6 Hours
by KnapAttack
Summary: House has been in a crash, and is dying. Each of his fellows struggle to say goodbye to the best doctor they've met. But House only cares about why Wilson won't stay with him, and the absence of Cuddy that hurts him more than the injuries themselves.
1. Awake

11.32am

Cuddy.

Out of the corner of his eye, for the first time in months, House saw her. His breath once again taken away by her beauty, he struggled to get up. But once again he felt the crushing feeling of wanting to move and not being able to. It was an experience he had grown used to since the infarction in his leg years ago, but never had it felt worse.

As he tried to get up again, he realized that it wasn't just the old injury stopping him from moving, but his entire body refusing to move. His rational mind, his most prized possession was screaming at him to think about this, but for once he instead listened to his irrational mind, and once again struggled to get up. A hand on his shoulder pushed him down, and for the first time House realised that he wasn't alone. He was in a hospital bed, and a tall man in a white coat was standing next to him, examining his chart.

"Where am I? Who are you?" House asked, wincing partly at the pain of speaking, and partly at the clichés he was saying. The doctor glanced down at him in disgust.

"You're at Princeston Plainsboro, House. I'm Dr Little, the head of the ER you've worked above for 20 years." House stated up at the man who would've towered over him, even if he could stand.

"Doctor... Little?" House asked, with a hint of amusement in his voice. The doctor stiffened slightly, but didn't even look round.

"Yes, and you've mocked me for it before. Now, can you please let me do my job? You've been in a motorbike crash at roughly 210 kilometres an hour. It's incredible your alive, let alone talking and mocking me, but you've broken both your arms, a leg and you've got a severe concussion. So no more trying to get up."

In the panic about not being able to move and finding that he was in hospital, House realised he had forgotten about Cuddy. He immediately swung his head round, desperate for another look at her. But the space at the window where he had seen her was empty, and House, crushed by disappointment, let out a low moan. Dr Little, mistaking the moan for physical pain rather than emotional, glared down at House.

"I meant no moving. As well as the breaks, you've got whiplash and dozens of cuts. Every time you move you're threatening to undo the 3 hours of work I've already had to on you. Move again and I'll get some of the nurses you've abused for decades to strap you down." House looked up at the man's grim face, and decided not to make the joke that immediately sprung to mind. Instead, he decided to, for once, admit what he was really thinking.

"But Cuddy... over there, by the window..." Dr Little made a note on House's chart, then turned to him.

"Hallucinations as well? I'm booking you an MRI, and to make sure you don't move before then, I'm giving you a sedative." He got a syringe out of his pockets, and injected House with it "Sweet dreams"


	2. Breaking the News

12.03pm "House?" House recognised that voice, but did not open his eyes. His body clock said that it was several hours after Dr Little had put him out. "House, we know you're awake."  
>"We?" House thought. The owner of that voice was Dr Foreman, one of the only doctors House respected. But he preferred to work alone, much like House himself, so him being in a group was sufficient reason for House to open his eyes.<br>The sight that greeted him wasn't an encouraging one. Foreman was standing at the bottom of House's bed with several of House's other fellows, both past and present. Foreman was holding a chart, looking grim. Cameron was also there, with tears in her eyes, being comforted by Chase, her ex. More worryingly, Thirteen was also crying. A Huntington's sufferer who had lost a mother, euthanised her brother and served jail time, anything making her show even a small amount of emotion was not going to be good.  
>House thought back to the last time all of his fellows had been together looking at him like this. They had thought he had neurosyphillis. Somehow he got the feeling this was worse news.<br>Foreman glanced at the others, then cleared his throat and turned to House. "House... the MRI revealed a problem. You've got a epidural haematoma, and it's too late to do anything about. I'm sorry". House immediately felt all of his aches go away, instead replaced by a numbness that was a thousand times worse. How many times had he mocked patients for not being able to take this new, only for him to have to receive it.  
>"How long?" he asked, once again hating the clich s coming out of his mouth, but still needing to know. Foreman glanced at the clock above House's bed.<br>"About 6 hours. Roughly until 6 o'clock. Maybe less, not much more." House felt his vision go blurred, but still saw his fellows leave the room. He was grateful for their bedside manners that he had never mastered, and now never would. 


End file.
